Honeymoon Status - Richonne Fics One Shot
by Fik Freak
Summary: This is a one shot for the #RichonneMarriedLife prompt. Monday, June 27, 2016 (Day 2): May this marriage be full of laughter, our every day in paradise. –Rumi Rick and Michonne are officially Mr. and Mrs. Grimes and officially on #HoneymoonStatus
1. Chapter 1

**_Monday, June 27, 2016 (Day 2):_** ** _May this marriage be full of laughter, our every day in paradise. –Rumi_**

 ** _Rick and Michonne are officially Mr. and Mrs. Grimes and officially on #HoneymoonStatus_**

"Here, taste." Michonne lightly says, offering me another bite of French bread, slathered with goat cheese, and drizzled with honey, from her fingers, the tips sweetened themselves from contact with the honey.

Opening my mouth for the treat, I also capture my new bride's fingers in my mouth, savoring the candied digits of her delicate hand. "Ummm. It's good."

"Yeah, it is. I want to eat the baguette by myself." She exclaims, tasting the same fingers she just fed me with, then sipping from her wine. With a satisfied sigh, she relaxes again, cloaking my body with hers once again.

"So, are we going to lay here all day, or are we going to actually make it to the Louvre?" Michonne whispers against my throat, her wine sweetened breath causing a slight stirring in my groin. I'm already in a constant state of semi-arousal given the day's events, and our gluttonous enjoyment of this carefree vacation.

"Let's stay here, just a little more, ok?" I answer back, not wanting her to move, to keep her body flush against mine. Waiting on her response, I continue to lazily rub one hand across her naked back, and my other hand and fingers through Michonne's long locs.

I like this look she's wearing, the way they are pulled up into a crown of sorts. With her hair away from her face, the beauty of her delicate features is dramatically on display. The way her big coffee brown eyes pop, it gives her a seductive innocence that makes it hard for me to keep my hands off of her. This look is drastically different from the straight hairstyle she wore when I first met her the summer that she was just a skinny 18-year-old girl. Nearly ten years of knowing my sweetheart, up and downs, and a new marriage later, and she's all woman now, as one can easily tell in the backless, sunburst orange dress she's wearing today. Against her sun-bronzed skin, now the darkest, most decadent blush of a creamy velvet brown I've ever seen, the short thin, halter dress is driving me crazy. Now that she's a woman, a mother, her hips, bottom, and bosom have blossomed and filled out, and are on display in this dress in a way that is almost vulgar on her petite frame.

Laying on my back in the grass, her small soft form draped over mine, we're enjoying a lazy day in the park, the _Champ de Mars_. We've been renting a houseboat on the Thames, for the past week of our honeymoon, and today we decided to bike ride over and lunch here before maybe making it to the Louvre later on. Given our lethargic half-attempts at doing nothing more than lounging, kissing, eating, and devouring two bottles of wine, I doubt we will make it today. And in this less inhabited spot of the park, under a tree, surrounded by little colorful flower gardens here and there, we have a modicum of privacy that has incited a few amorous make out sessions, adding to the general malaise that is keeping us rooted where we are.

"Ok, sweetheart. Maybe tomorrow we will make it to the Louvre?" She asks on a weak lethargic sigh, her acceptance of the new plan easy and light, as though she didn't really want to leave either, which is somewhat surprising. Michonne is very responsible, organized, put together. She's a lawyer, a political strategist, so I expect nothing less. Her and her mother put this honeymoon together, and of course everything is well planned and near perfect. The houseboat, the tickets to a show at the Moulin Rouge, the private night tour of the Thames by boat, dinner on the Eiffel Tower, all of it. Even her plans to spend a full day at the Louvre. But, Paris has cast a romantic spell over us, one heavier than the one we were already in after the high of finally getting married, sealing a deal that has been years in the making. As such, we have spent more time in bed, experimenting and enjoying each other with a sexual freedom, an impassioned longing we have not previously known. Add to that a few naughty pieces of lingerie I purchased for her from some of the little sex shops in _Quartier Pigalle_ , and there isn't much more that we want to do outside of enjoying the carnal pleasure found in each other's bodies.

"Yeah, tomorrow."

" _Bien_." She slowly rises. On bare feet, she flitters, like a radiantly glowing firefly over to our bikes parked next to us, leaning against a tree. Removing some money from her wallet, hidden at the bottom of the basket fixed to the front of her bike, she begins to walk away.

"Where are you going?" I ask, raising my head, slightly agitated by her sudden departure. My body is bereft without her presence, the press of her feminine form. I'm not certain how long I can withstand not having her in my sight, my greedy hands somewhere on the sinewy firmness of her arms and legs, or the plump curves of her ass and thighs.

" _Là-bas pour le café_ " she responds over her shoulder. Blowing me a kiss, she turns and continues to walk away, further from the tower. Her short dress flutters across her toned thighs, swishing over her firm bottom. I don't know French, and she knows this, but I do love to hear her speak it, and I picked up on _café_ , which means she is going for coffee, an espresso for her and probably a _café Americano_ for me. Groaning as I watch her disappear from my sight, I lower my head back to the ground, anxiously awaiting her return.

After nearly ten minutes apart, I am growing impatient at her absence, and sit up fully to see her walking back my way, speaking to some guy carrying a camera. He's clearly flirting with her, talking with his hands, smiling at her, matching her every step that leads her back to me. As they approach, she turns to him, shakes her head and says politely, " _Non, s'il vous plaît_." But this guy doesn't seem to be understanding what even I can grasp with my limited French, and he doesn't leave her side, even when she is standing right in front of me. Whatever he wants, she told him no. Feeling myself get upset at this guy bothering my lady, my new wife, I jump to my feet, prepared to help him understand, fully.

" _Permettez-moi de vous photographier. Vous êtes si belle et sexy_!" He says to her, lewdly running his eyes over her in that damn dress, caressing a finger across the apple like roundness of her adorable cheek, and over her full lips. Instantly I'm on my advancing, ready to react.

Michonne immediately reacts by tersely swiping his hand away from her face, and with a steely look of disgust on her face spits to him in French, " _Tu m'emmerdes_!" Stepping past me, her tranquil mood from before is now trampled under the rude advances of this idiot.

Finally recognizing my presence, he briefly acknowledges me with a swift glance and dismissal. Taking in this scene my blood is on fire, and I'm rankled past my low tolerance level for disrespect. I cock my head to the side, squinting, I size him up. He's about my height, and weight, dark hair in a ponytail. None of this matters. He could be a giant, and that wouldn't change my reaction one bit. He disrespected my wife, that's not gonna work for me. I charge the guy, pushing him back with both hands, "Get back from her!" I demand, preparing to knock his ass out. Instead, I swing my gaze over to my wife, who is huffing and fiddling with her coffee, and I decide to try and save the rest of this day, for her. To not let this asshole ruin an otherwise perfect day.

Taking a deep breath, feeling my chest bulk and the air rush from my nostrils, I pinch the bridge of my nose and look him in the eyes. "You speak English?" I ask him with steely menace. A puzzled look overcomes his face, as though he is considering how he wants to answer. But there is also some recognition there, so I know he understands the question.

 _"Oui."_ He answers in a firm angry voice, now on guard from the shove I gave him.

Nodding my head, I give him a slow sinister smile. "Good. I want you to understand me. Leave my wife alone, or I will break your gotdamn jaw. Got it?"

"What?"

"You heard me, and I know you understood me. She said no, and you disrespected her by not taking the hint, by touching her. I'm telling you now, back the fuck off, and apologize to her."

"Rick, it's ok. Just leave it." Michonne pleads, her voice tired, resigned to dispatch with this fool and move on.

But this guy won't let me. Sputtering at my threat, my demand that he apologize, he narrows his eyes on me, smugness all over him, and answers in English, but in a voice that is still heavily laced with his French accent, "What? I complimented her beauty. I want her for my walls. Her chocolate is so sweet, no?"

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" My voice remains even, but there is a grit to it, to let this guy know I'm not playing around with him. If the next words out of his mouth are not an apology I'm kicking his ass, I'm done trying to reason, to go about this in a calm way.

Shaking his head, he spits in disgust. "You Americans! She is a beautiful woman, and I complimented her on her beauty. This is not America, cowboy, I can say what I want!"

The briefest of moments passes, and the next thing I know I'm tightening the fist of my right hand, and making contact with his jaw and the side of his nose. Sensing a satisfying crack in his face underneath my hand, I shake out the intense strike of pain in my knuckles. He's on the ground now, howling and clutching at his face, blood oozing from between his grasping fingers.

Pacing back and forth, blowing and huffing like a raging bull, I'm smarting from the pain radiating from my knuckles, up through my wrist and into my arm. "Gotdamn it!"

"Rick! Are you ok, sweetheart?" Rushing to my side, Michonne reaches for my hand. Inspecting my fist and knuckles, a frown mars the perfection of her pouty lips. "Oh no, it's so swollen. Can you move it?"

"Yeah. Just hurts like a son of a bitch. I'm alright. Are you ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine. But, this asshole…" She gestures over to the French guy who is struggling to stand, and whose screams of pain are drawing more stares than the punch I gave him. Peeking over at him from beside me, in a voice clear and direct, full of her haughty and authoritative lawyer persona, she speaks to him in French, " _Tu as de la chance qu'il ne t'a pas tué."_

I have no clue what she says, but a shocked and fearful look crosses the guy's face as his scrutinizing gaze bounces over me. Narrowing his eyes on her, then back at my frowning face, now scarlet red with anger, at my balled up fist delicately held in her hand, he backs away quickly, then takes off in a brisk walk. Still pissed, but now also confused by the exchange, I turn to Michonne for answers.

"What the hell just happened, Michonne?"

"He came up to me at the coffee stand, wanted me to come to his flat so he could take my picture. He told me I was very beautiful and sexy. I told him no, more than once. He kept grabbing for my hand, then touched my face. You saw that. And just now, I told him he's lucky you didn't kill him." Lowering her eyes from mine she shrugs as though it all meant nothing. But then she brings them back up to make contact with mine again, and there is now a familiar bold look there, one that I have become abundantly acquainted with on our honeymoon. It's fire, lust, hunger. Chest heaving, biting her bottom lip, she runs her hands over my chest and asks in a voice dripping with naughty delight, as she turns us around and backs me up to the tree behind us. "You would, wouldn't you, Rick? If that man tried to make me go with him?"

"Hell yes I would. You know that. Another man can't touch you ever again."

"Why is that?" She asks from her full lips, her manicured brows quirked over her dusky eyes.

"Because you fucking belong to me, that's why." I answer. Aggression and adrenaline still running through my veins, I grab her around her waist and hoist her body up against mine, the tense pain in my right hand now forgotten. "Don't you?"


	2. Chapter 2

" _Oui."_ She responds. Licking her lips, I witness the allure of the dominating gruff of my question alight in the dark embers of her eyes. " _Ça m'énerve, je te regarde batter_."

"English, please."

"I said it turns me on, to watch you fight. To stick up for me, even when I don't need you to."

"Is that right?"

Simply nodding her head, never breaking eye contact, she leans her body into mine and whispers in the softest voice, "I want you to fuck me, Rick."

Feeling my dick swell at the sound of those words dripping from her lips, I close my eyes to gain control of myself. Swiveling my head just a tad, I browse our surroundings, giving serious thought to her request. "Here? In public?"

" _Oui."_

Now that the French guy is gone, everyone whose attention we previously held, has now dispersed or found something more interesting to focus on. Grateful for the reprieve from their earlier watchfulness, now replaced with total disregard, I lean down and lick the length of my wife's graceful neck. At the feel of my teeth biting down, and my lips sucking on the sensitive flesh she whimpers and moans, her head tossed back, body pliable and lax in my firm hold, presenting the most erotic picture. "That turn you on too, Chonne? People watching me fuck you?"

 _"Oui."_

"I don't want anyone looking at my baby though."

Giving me a little shove to the chest, she directs me to sit up against the tree. I sit down, looking up at her with my own sexual hunger now emergent, anticipating her next move. Gracefully she lifts her dress just enough to reveal to me that she is only wearing a very tiny G-string, one that barely covers the lips of her pussy. Not only is the small scrap of material not enough to cover her, but it is now wet, drenched with her arousal. Licking my lips, I greedily reach for her, wrapping my hand around the soft inner cushion of her thigh. "Come here. Sit on my dick, Chonne."

At first I was a little hesitant at her request. I'm a cop, and I don't know for sure, but this might be illegal here, to fuck in a public place. But right now, I don't honestly think I care. How can I not partake of this sensual, sexy woman before me? Glaring down at me, I know she's on fire. I know she's ready for me, wet, tight. The jealous rage from before is now mixed with a heady dose of carnal desire, and I decide right then to not care about the law, or who may see us. Let them see. I need to fuck her right now, to claim her again as mine. To take what she's offering, satisfy her need to scratch this kinky little itch. Unzipping my pants, I take one last glance around to see who if anyone is watching us, and realize that while no one is paying us any specific attention, someone could potentially see us. And dare I admit it, but it turns me on too.

Removing my cock, I fist the turgid flesh, running my thumb over the sensitive tip, spreading the clear pre-cum down the shaft. "For you." I direct to Michonne in a strained voice, barely holding on at the sight of her with the sun descending into a flare of dusky hues behind her, illuminating her visage in an angelic light. The weighty feel of my desire for her in my hand, prompts me to reach for her again, to stroke the dampness of the seat of her panties.

 _"Bien."_ She replies on a small tight sniff, and gracefully descends to my lap, placing her hands on my shoulders to steady herself. Dragging the thin lacy cloth of her G-string to the side, I immediately impale her on my cock, delighting in the intense thrill that travels through me from contact with her snug canal.

 _"Oui, Richard. Oui."_ She breathes out, relief crossing her face. Slowly rocking her hips back and forth on my lap, then in a slow torturous wind, Michonne captures my lips in a deep passionate kiss. Fingers roam through the shortened curls of my hair, tugging and pulling. With my chest as close to hers as possible, a minor attempt to fully conceal our actions, she's grinding against me in such a way that one might assume that we are fucking, but we could just be making out. Either way she has me ensnared in her web, swaddled in lust, and I don't want to be free. Thrusting her tongue into my mouth, it tangles with my own, and roams the cavern of my mouth, dominating the kiss. I'm so buried under how she's owning me, controlling me, giving and taking her pleasure, that I can do nothing but hold on. My arm is tight around her waist, the other firmly pressed to the back of her head, holding her mouth to my own, swallowing her ecstatic moans.

Sensing the tightening warmth of her pussy ravenously enveloping me, I know her orgasm is near. Needing to send her over the edge, to appease her voracious appetite, I lift my legs to a bend behind her, and give her a series of sharp upward thrusts. Feeling myself bottom out, I continue, pulling her body down on to my dick to meet the lunging force of my hips. Dragging her kiss swollen lips from my own, Michonne's head is thrown back, gasping from the strength of my fervent onslaught.

The sight of her in my lap, rigid with pleasure, causes a shocking tingle to synthesize in my core, on the precipice of a powerful burst of my cum. I need it. I can feel it right there, within arm's reach. But, I need her to come first, to quench our shared thirst, to drench my dick in her appreciation. The indulgent desire to leave her womb awash in my cum is nearly overwhelming, when I her full lips releasing a series of words, over and over like a spell. " _Oui, Richard, oui. Mon dieu!_ " Unable to take my eyes off her, I can almost literally watch the power of her climax overwhelm her body, drenching her in a luminescent dew of sweat.

Further aroused by the unyielding clasp of her pussy around my dick, I allow myself to snatch my own orgasm, permitting the flush of pleasure to stiffen my body beneath her. The rush of cum from my body drenches her depths, and robs me of my last morsel of energy.

"Fuuuuucccck!" Falls from my lips. To prevent us from drawing too much attention, more than we may already have, Michonne clasps her hand over my mouth, attempting to muffle my deep voice.

As we both take a moment to catch our breath and descend from the peak of excitement, my beautiful wife lifts to allow me to withdrawal from her body. Left behind is a slow slip of my essence from her, and onto the slick mass of my dark pubic hair. Taking immediate notice of the sticky remains of our lovemaking, she reaches down and wipes some of it up with her delicate fingers, then licks them clean.


End file.
